Uncertainties
by aphrodite-14
Summary: Chap.4 up!! It seems agonizing to hide in the dark. Draco and Hermione learn of loving, but are torn in between. Will they choose, for once, to follow their hearts, or will they continue living their own lives, uncertainties lingering and never fulfilled?
1. Hiding

Author's Notes:

So I'm back!! Anyway, thanks to those people who reviewed my work so far. Really, you make writing even more fun! So, this is something new, since it's not the usual Harry-Draco pairing. Anyway, I hope you'll like it all the same. ^.^

This chapter's dedicated to Loreen, for being the persistent person that she is.

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, and I don't own anything....

** Uncertainties**

**Chapter 1 – Hiding**

_To love is to learn how to hide the pain._

Hermione sat on her bed in the girls' dormitory just after the exams, fiddling with what seemed like a tiny hourglass that hung around her neck with a gold chain. She closed her eyes and opened them up again, looking out the window. She smiled. The sky looked gloomy, grey clouds lining the atmosphere, pale blue and crimson streaking across the horizon. It was as if the sky was mourning with her.

_Strange_, she thought. _ I never felt this way before._

She lay back on her bed, recounting all the incidents from the inner recesses of her mind. Everything was so vivid, so surreal, that she couldn't believe that they all had come and gone. Right now, she was even grateful that she still came through it all in one piece.

_Draco…_

She always felt that unfamiliar pang course through her whenever she thought of Draco – that painful sting that continues to sear straight right into her heart. It was strange, really, to even feel something deeper, besides hatred and anger that she was used to feeling whenever Draco was around. It was like being pulled by two unknown forces, each one with great power that becomes too forceful to resist.

She buried her face into her hands, feeling desperate and confused all over again. She never felt this way before, and now, it was wrecking her apart, tearing right into her soul. She never wanted this, _this feeling_ – she knew it would only make matters worse than it is.

Hermione knew too much about love. Perhaps it was because she was used to reading love stories while she was growing up. Or maybe because she had paid too much attention to those romantic Muggle movies, thinking that someday, the story would end up being her own. 

But now it was different. She realized that love was not just a fairy tale, where boy meets girl, boy and girl swear undying love for each other, and then live happily ever after. It wasn't just like that. Love isn't just a feeling; rather, it is a choice that you have to make and you have to hold on to, no matter what. Love is a risk that you have to take, a risk that challenges you, even your life, for the object of it. Love is so powerful, that when it hits you, you don't know yourself anymore. It is so impenetrable that it would take eternity for it to fade out. 

All these she had learned while loving that one boy. She had learned to love him with all the love her heart could hold. Sometimes she'd ask herself if he were really worth it, and when she'd look into his eyes, pure and silver in the dark, she'd just sigh and smile contentedly, imprinting the vision of his eyes deep in her mind, then she'd close her eyes, and still she'd see his eyes vividly, coloured with purity and full intensity. 

Sometimes, she realized, it's better to leave the question unanswered. You'll just have to wait and see.

* * * * *

Draco sat on the couch near the fire in the Slytherin common room, absentmindedly flipping through his copy of the Daily Prophet, the one sent by his father. He didn't know what else to do.

The common room was quiet and empty, except for him, he realized. It was a good place for him to think for a while, since it was the only thing that keeps him from losing his mind.

But what the heck, who was he trying to fool? He knew that thinking would only put him into madness – especially when his thoughts always wander to that very same person, that girl with the caramel-colored hair and hazel brown eyes.

He laughed in spite of himself. She was rather hard to forget, since she was the first person – a girl at that – to slap him hard on the face. It was the only time he had seen her angry, her eyes flashing dangerously at him. He couldn't blame her, though. It was his fault. Just serves him right for being an insufferable, obstinate git.

_This is strange,_ he reflected thoughtfully. _I never admit I'm wrong._

He looked at the fire, dancing and crackling in the hearth, warming him from the cold atmosphere of the common room. But he knew that the fire was not the only reason why he felt that certain kind of warmth inside him that no one can ever replace – except for that girl…

_But then again, I really don't know what's normal anymore._

It was ironic, now that he thought of it. At home, he was taught to stay away from Muggle-borns. Muggle-borns have bad blood, as his father had put it, and pure bloods are better off. At first he didn't know what to make of it, since it didn't make any sense, but being the obedient boy that he is to his father, that was exactly what he did.

And now here he was, thinking of that girl, thinking of the way her smile lights up her whole face, of the way her eyes emulate her soul, of the way she brings herself with such confidence and strength, truthful and real and so exclusively her.

He did not know how it all started. It was as if he was caught in a dream, and he didn't know where it all began. It was too late when he realized he was feeling this, _this love_, for her. And when he realized this, he didn't know how to make it stop. It was like a boulder rolling down a steep hill; the motion goes on and on, and you can't stop it. He admits, albeit grudgingly, that underneath all those snide remarks, retorts and smirks he had thrown her way, he loved her. Come to think of it, hate was another form of love, right? 

Draco spent an unwarranted amount of time watching her from a distance, studying her features, trying to preserve every detail of her smile, her face, her whole identity until the time he will see her again. Sometimes, it hurts him to look at her just like that, knowing that she would never look back at him and feel the same way about him, but then he'd remember her eyes, so sweet and so beautiful, that he'd just keep on gazing at her the same way.

He loved her eyes most of all. Perhaps they were one of the reasons why he fell in love with her in the first place. There was nothing like them. Nothing can compare to the way her eyes mirror her soul, so painfully truthful and beautiful at the same time. Her eyes are clearly different from others – so unique that they perfectly fit her. He'd remember the way he'd looked at her, her auburn eyes shining with innocence and purity, and he'd been completely transfixed, as if he could not let go of that vision, and he'd be just like that until she turns and goes away.

He laid on his back, closing his eyes, feeling weary and desperate. He'd just have to face that bitter reality – he really couldn't have her. 

* * * * *

"H-hermione." Hermione turned around and saw Neville approaching her. He had a frightened look on his face. "You've got t-to g-get outside, quick," Neville said, stammering.

"Why? What's wrong?" Hermione asked, her voice full of concern.

Neville dragged her out of the common room. Hermione followed, although reluctantly. She had a feeling that this was not good.

They ran until they reached the Hogwarts grounds. What she saw made her heart jump.

Ron and Draco were having a fight, both of their wands lay forgotten on the ground.

Hermione looked around and saw Harry running over to them, flushed and covered with sweat. "What happened?" he asked. "I came from Quidditch practice, and I was looking for you in the common room, and somebody said you went out this way." 

Hermione could only stare. Harry turned, and saw Ron and Malfoy. "_Bloody hell!_"

"My god," Hermione whispered, looking frantically at Neville and Harry. 

"I don't know how it happened. I just saw them," Neville explained, his eyes bulging with fear. "I didn't know how to stop them, so I went and got you."

Draco lashed blindly at Ron, finally punching him on his stomach. Draco smirked, a palpable victory on his face, but that instantly changed to a grimace when Ron's fist hit hard on Draco's left eye and left him reeling with pain. Ron was about to kick Draco's shin when he felt two pairs of arms pulling him back.

"Stop it, Ron." Harry used the last amount of his strength to restrain Ron from getting back at Malfoy. Ron was awfully stubborn; he kept retaliating, but with Hermione's help, they were both able to hold Ron back.

Draco was left on the ground, wincing with pain. He didn't know how long they were fighting, but he knew that Weasley's blows had damaged random parts of his body. He was about to inspect the damage when he felt the weight of a gaze on him. He looked up to see Hermione staring at him.

Hermione watched Draco, and was taken aback when he looked up at her. She held his gaze for a while, auburn meeting silver. Then, ignoring the loud thumping of her heart, she said slowly, "Malfoy, just… go away. Get lost." With a last incriminating look, she turned and looked away.

Draco stayed rooted for a moment, stung by Hermione's words, like white hot pain coursing through the deepness of his soul. Finally he stood up, flinching. And this time he knew it wasn't just only because of the pain from Weasley's blows.

* * * * *

Draco came out from the shower the next morning, ignoring the consistent rumbling in his stomach. Slowly he got into his clothes, and walked slowly to his dormitory, and started arranging the books he needed for his classes today. He had decided to skip breakfast, and he was feeling increasingly hungry. 

Desperately he walked over to his drawer and rummaged through his top drawer, where he found the stash of goodies his mother had sent for him. He ate the chocolate cupcake that his mother had especially baked for him, then poured himself water from the jug beside his bed, feeling rather thirsty after eating the cupcake which left a dry feeling in his throat. He drank the water in one gulp, then proceeded to his four-poster.

He sat there, absentmindedly rubbed his left eye, which he regretted when he did, since it was still painful from yesterday. He swore inwardly, got up and walked over to Goyle's bedside table and snatched the mirror, with which he used to inspect his bruise. It was still an unattractive shade of purple, and as he touched it, was still tender. 

He didn't go to the hospital wing yesterday; it was a long way away from the Hogwarts grounds, and it was hard for him to limp all the way there, and so he settled instead to the comfort of his dormitory. He was so exhausted that it didn't take him long to fall asleep on his four-poster.

Of course, he could still go to the infirmary, and have Madam Pomfrey fix his bruise once and for all, but he didn't. 

He flopped on his four-poster, feeling wretched. He wasn't such a self-sacrificing person, so why was he choosing to feel the pain from his bruises, instead of going to the hospital wing?

_Because your torturing yourself, that's why,_ said a voice inside him. He turned on his side, and stared at the ceiling. _Because you'd rather torture yourself with pain than feel guilty, knowing that it's all your fault._

_And you're a coward_, he scolded himself silently, a feeling of foreboding inside him. As much as he hated to admit it, in a way he was scared. 

He was scared of the truth; the truth being that Hermione wasn't his, and will never be. She had made it clear for him yesterday, when she told him to go away. He could still remember the way Hermione looked at him, the coldness slicing right through him. Of course, Hermione's words jarred him immensely, like a swift knife through a tentative hope. 

It was the very same reason why he never told Hermione what he was feeling for her. He didn't want to know how she would react if he did, and he wasn't too keen on taking chances. He didn't want to risk losing his pride just for rejection, didn't he? 

Rejection was a hard, painful, bitter pill to swallow.

But now was not the right time to dwell on his feelings. There were more important things to think about than that. _Like getting to your classes without fainting_, he thought. 

Sighing, he grabbed a cauldron cake, stashed it into his bag for emergency, and went out the dormitory. 

* * * * *

Hermione came in rushing into the Great Hall, her school bag on her shoulder, looking messy and disgruntled, her hair in a wild tangle around her face. She had slept late last night, owing it to the need of finishing her Muggle Studies term paper, which was due the next day. She promptly sat next to Harry, who greeted her cheerfully. "Morning, Herm."

"Mmmm," she mumbled, spooning oatmeal from her bowl into her mouth. 

"Hey Hermione," Ron greeted from across the table, stabbing his fork on his bacon and putting it into his mouth. "You okay?"

Hermione didn't answer; she started pouring herself pumpkin juice. 

"Bad morning?" Lavender Brown pitched in, a few chairs away, eyeing her critically.

Hermione proceeded to her bag looking for her brush, and hastily ran it through her hair, taming her unruly curls. "I haven't slept all night, I have dark circles under my eyes, still got a lot to study for, and I'm only halfway finished with my star chart," she answered with a slightly hysterical note in her voice. She grumbled inwardly, then added, "so don't mess with me."

"My, my, a bit cranky, aren't we?" Lavender giggled. "Geez, Hermione, loosen up!"

Hermione drew a deep breath and ignored Lavender's comment. She had a lot on her mind going on, with the exams just a few weeks away. She couldn't bear to just loosen up and take it easy. No one was taking more subjects than she was. They had no right to tell her to loosen up! They just couldn't understand.

"Hey, Herm, don't get too worked up on this," Harry whispered, and as Hermione looked up, saw the concern in his eyes. Harry smiled at her. "I know you're in some kind of rough time right now, but you'll get past that, don't worry."

Ron leaned in, and whispered, "Yeah, and one more thing." He gave her a serious look, and kept his voice low. "Don't worry about that Lavender for now. I heard she's taking Arithmancy under Professor Vector, and I overheard Parvati telling Dean that Lavender's got a huge crush over Vector, which was the only reason why she's taking his class in the first place," Ron whispered, his eyes twinkling. "In fact, she's got one of pictures under her pillow every time she sleeps."

"Ron!" Hermione giggled, nudging him under the table. "Quit that!" 

"See? So every time Lavender irritates the hell out of you, you tell yourself, 'Okay, say whatever you want, but I know you've got one of Vector's pictures tucked under your pillow.'" Ron gave her a conspiratorial wink and squeezed her hand. "Just don't tell her that I know, ok?"

Hermione laughed, "Oh sure." She brushed her bangs away from her eyes. "Thanks, you guys."

Harry looked at Ron, who popped a Bertie Botts's Every Flavored Bean into his mouth, then grinned. "No problem," they said in unison.

Hermione sighed, and looked desperately at the blurry haze of text of her Potions book she had propped in front of her as she tried to study, but only found herself sneaking a furtive glance over the Slytherin table, where the seat usually occupied by a certain silvery blonde-haired boy was vacated. She wondered vaguely where he was; _He must have skipped breakfast_, Hermione thought, a dull ache in her heart.

It was hard; it was always hard with Draco. Hermione saw him yesterday, from after his horrid fight with Ron, and she'd been there. As much as she didn't want him to go, she had told him off. _Go away... get lost_, she heard her own voice, and had been slightly surprised at the bitter tone she had used then, and she'd seen him, his slate-grey eyes clouding with a familiar emotion she couldn't quite distinguish, and then it vanished as swiftly as it appeared. It could have easily been dismissed as a trick of the light, and tried convincing herself that it was what she thought it was; just an illusion, created by the incongruous play of light. But what she saw flicker in Draco's eyes was just too real to be false, and this just made everything more confusing than it really was.

_What was he trying to do? _Hermione thought pensively. She felt light, that slight ray of hope slicing through the sheer veneer of uncertainties, tentative hope rising to the core. _ But it can't be. He hates me._

Hermione was so lost in Draco-thought that she didn't feel Harry's nudging from her right side. "Hey, Herm, let's go."

"What? Oh yeah." Hermione glanced up and saw everybody dashing away from the Great Hall and into their classes. She stood up, hastily snapped her Potions book shut and shoved it inside her bag, a sinking feeling in her stomach as she glanced at the Slytherin table (which was now empty), and started towards Harry and Ron, who were waiting for her. "Let's go." 

~~tbc... 

Well, I'm not quite sure if Professor Vector is the 'cute and available' type. But I guess that'll just do for now!


	2. Taking Chances

Author's Notes:

Okay, next chapter's up! It's not much, just something that smacked into my head while I was lying on a hospital bed... Anyway, in the meantime I will be sitting mournfully on my beanbag, * gives her best pleading-look * hoping against hope that you'll like it and review it. * smiles hopefully *

Big thanks to my cousin, Laika, for being the adorable person that she is. * sly grin * More thanks below the page. :)

This chapter's dedicated to all you people who are reading this right now, and to Laika, for being brave all the while.

Usual credits go to the creators of www.fanfiction.net, and to JK Rowling, for creating Harry Potter, and does a good job on her own, too! ^_^

Disclaimer: Let me remind you that I'm just indulging myself into harmless fun, and I don't own Harry Potter... JK Rowling and Warner Bros. do.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

**Uncertainties**

**Chapter 2 - Taking Chances**

_Listen... that's all there is to it. _  


Hermione stirred the bubbling liquid in her cauldron lazily, studying it as the potion frothed and turned into a pale shade of orange. The Gryffindors and Slytherins were having Potions in the dungeons, and they were concocting a Personality Alternator Potion, which changes the personality of the drinker for an hour. She was done, but as she reread the instructions from her book, and examined her work, found out one problem; the potion was supposed to turn _yellow_, not _orange_. 

_I'm sure I did everything right_, she thought, her brows screwing in frustration._ What can possibly go wrong?_

"I don't get this." Hermione heard Ron complain. "What in the world are we supposed to do?" he clamored in a disgruntled sort of tone as he stirred the simmering liquid in his cauldron.

"You're not alone," Harry muttered, keeping a wary eye out for Snape. "It's not like we'll need it anyway." He looked around, and his eyes clouded for a moment. "That git, Malfoy, does."

Hermione sighed, and immediately recounted the events that happened three days ago. She stared at her potion unhappily, then glanced at the certain blonde haired boy working at the Slytherin side of the room. She saw the purplish bruise on his left eye, but other than that, he looked perfectly fine. 

It had been three days. But to Hermione it felt like three years.

It never bothered her then. Hermione never cared for Draco at all; she detested her since the day she saw him at Hogwarts express, and sparked when he had called her Mudblood back in their second year, up until a few days ago, with her outrage toward him (Draco called Hagrid pathetic, and she was really angry, to say the least) and had slapped him with all the strength she had mustered.

Of course she had never slapped anyone before. Usually she could control her anger very well. It was just Draco's unfortunate luck that he chose to be the obstinate, arrogant git that he is, and at that time, it just so happened that she was feeling very, very pressured. All her anxieties, her fears, the pressure from the past few weeks exploded into that one slap, which unfortunately, staggered the wits out of him.

She thought he deserved it. She thought it would make her feel better. But when she raised her eyes as she pulled out her wand, she saw it; that unveiled hurt lined with an undisclosed emotion in his eyes, and when he stepped backward, it was gone, but even as she told Harry to beat him at Quidditch, she couldn't put it out of her mind, him especially, ever since.

It never bothered her then. So why was it bothering her now? 

"Earth to Hermione, this is Ron speaking, where are you now?" Her thoughts were interrupted by Ron's voice, and forced her to snap out of her silent reverie.

"What? Oh, sorry." Hermione gave him an impish smile. "What did you say?"

Ron eyed her for a moment. "Are you okay? You look like your dog just died. And you don't even have a dog. What's the matter?"

"Nothing," she answered hastily. "Just... tired, that's all." 

Harry gave her a concerned look. "You know, I think you're cracking up. I mean, I don't know for sure how you're getting around your classes, but from the looks of it, you're doing too much. You'd better slow down." He shrugged. "Perhaps, you could drop a class or two."

"What? Are you insane?" she said incredulously, her eyes wide and looking as if the idea was the silliest thing you can think of. "That's ridiculous! I can't!"

"I know you're a clever witch, and all that, but I reckon you're human. Not a machine. You're not made of steel, you know," Ron pointed out.

Hermione smiled weakly. "I know that, and thanks for the concern, but I just... can't. I've started on this, and I'm halfway through. I can't back out now, can I?" She paused, giving them a meaningful look. "Don't worry, I'm okay. I can handle this."

"Okay, if you say so," Harry replied, although the look on his face told her he didn't believe it. Hermione gave him a wan smile, and saw him nod and turn to Ron, who was now frantic about his potion that was far too runny to begin with.

Hermione turned to look at her potion, which was still a hopeless color of orange. She looked around desperately, hoping against hope that somebody heaven-sent will help her fix her potion (which was very unusual for Hermione; she's usually the one asked for help) before the class ends.

"What's wrong, Granger?" a cold, familiar voice said behind her.

Hermione whirled around and found Draco Malfoy, wearing yet another one of his sneers on his face. She raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing here, Malfoy? Trying to irritate the hell out of everyone?"

"Nothing. Just checking on how badly you've done with your potion," Draco replied, peering into her cauldron. "You know, I distinctly remember the book saying that the potion's supposed to turn yellow, not orange." He smirked. "Now, now, Granger, what have you done? Nicked off a strand from Carrot-top Weasley and decided to mix it in with the other ingredients?"

Hermione gave him a narrowed look, suspicion glinting in her brown eyes. "It's not your potion. Who are you to check on my potion anyway?" she retorted, glaring at him. She gave out a frustrated sigh. "You know, if you're not going to make yourself useful, you'd better go away... get lost... drown yourself in your cauldron... drop dead and do everybody a favor," she snapped irritably, then turned to her cauldron.

Draco, however, remained rooted to his spot. "Are you sure you want me to go?"

Hermione looked up at him in surprise. "_What?_"

"I said, are you sure you want me to go?" Draco repeated slowly. His silver eyes were on her, not looking away.

Hermione didn't answer. Part of her didn't want him to go; he was the Potions master, after all, and she desperately needed help. She eyed him carefully, trying to make out his hidden intentions, if there were any.

Draco nodded at her swiftly, then took the measured crushed petals of black rose from a nearby table. Hermione watched with rapt interest as Draco sprinkled them into her potion while saying the spell under his breath. The potion fizzled and bubbled, and finally it turned into a sunny shade of yellow. Hermione stood with muted astonishment, looked at Draco as he gave her the briefest of smiles, then walked away. 

Hermione glanced at her potion, which was now ready for submission, then back at Draco, who was now sitting at his table, minding his own potion. She smiled, despite of herself.

_Must be the potion_, Hermione reflected, smiling to herself. _Well if it is, it's definitely working._

_* * * * *_

"Hey." Ron nudged Hermione an hour later, as she, Harry and Ron descended the stairs towards the Great Hall. "You're happy. What's up?"

"Me?" Hermione asked innocently. "How can you say that?"

"You've got that lopsided grin on your face working right now. That's definitely happy," Ron observed, his eyes twinkling. "Come on, Herm, tell us."

Hermione took her seat next to Harry, and started eating her lunch. "What are you talking about, Ron? There's nothing going on," she said simply, only that her eyes told Ron a different story. Of course, she couldn't tell Ron and Harry why she was feeling that way. They wouldn't understand.

Ron gave her a shrewd look, and turned to Harry and whispered something in his ear. Harry turned to look at Hermione, and gave her a sly grin, then turned to Ron and whispered something back.

"Quit that! That's not nice." Hermione pretended to tell them off, but to no avail. Harry and Ron continued to look at her innocently. 

"Whatever." Hermione, out of habit, sneaked a glance at Draco, who was sitting at his usual place at the Slytherin table. _Stop it_, she told herself. Instead, she concentrated on eating her lunch. "Hey, Ron, how's your bruise?"

"I didn't get much sleep last night because of this, and Harry here began telling me to toddle up to the hospital wing-" said Ron. Hermione saw the bluish-black bump on his forehead, of which Draco had managed to wing out three days ago. 

"But he didn't want to." Harry interrupted, shoveling some pasta into his mouth.

"-but other than this," he gestured at his forehead, "I'm quite fine. No permanent damage done."

Hermione felt the spot on his forehead, which was tender under her touch. "Does it hurt?"

Ron grimaced slightly. "Not much. But don't worry, it's okay."

Hermione tried to give him a reassuring smile, but she felt that sinking feeling down the pit of her stomach. When she glanced up at the Slytherin table, she saw a pair of slate-grey eyes boring into her. 

_Draco?_

She was mildly startled, but she met his gaze evenly. Draco looked at her, an unnamed emotion burning like ethereal fire in his eyes, then she felt something that connected from deep within, and then he looked away, and the moment was gone, like candle fire swept in a gush of wind, and everything came fluttering back into place.

She drew a deep breath, and chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip, forcing herself to wrench her gaze away from Draco.

For once, maybe, there was hope after all.

_* * * * *_

"_What?_" Indignation rose in Draco's voice. They were having Transfiguration class, along with the Gryffindors, and Professor McGonagall was teaching them how to transfigure a teapot to a turtle. Draco, successfully, had managed to change his teapot into a turtle. He had asked to go out for a while, and so he had asked Crabbe and Goyle to look over his turtle. When he came back, a very unfortunate situation greeted him.

Crabbe, for one having King Kong size, and who was actually taller and wider than Draco, it was remarkable how much he looked like a feeble, harmless, little child. "You see, ah Malfoy, uh..."

Draco turned to Goyle, who cowered as Draco glared at him. "Tell me, exactly, what in living hell did you do?"

Goyle answered, rather bashfully, "Uh, we were looking out for your turtle, like you told us, and uh, Crabbe did something to it." 

Draco looked sideways at Crabbe, an eyebrow raised. "And what did you do?"

"I, uh, wanted to see what it would look like if I'd cast an Engorgement Charm on it-"

"I told him not to, because you know how Crabbe is with his wand-"

"And so, uh, I accidentally cast it on its shell-"

"But his wand was rather malfunctioning again, and well, there it is." Goyle looked pointedly at the poor turtle, which besides from the fact that its shell was as big as a Quaffle, had bubbles that dangerously smelled of tea emitting from its mouth.

Draco rounded on Crabbe and Goyle, giving each a nasty look. "I will never, ever, ask you again to look over my things." He narrowed his eyes. "Now go away, before I turn you two into Blast-Ended Skrewts."

Crabbe and Goyle ran away from him as quickly as possible, as far as their fat legs can carry them. Draco would have found this funny, but he had little time to dwell on this. He was now trying to figure out how to turn it back to its original shape, and how was he supposed to stop it from breathing bubbles?

He could ask Professor McGonagall for another teapot, but judging from the scowl she was wearing as she was looking over Neville's miscast teapot, it was as safe as poking a sleeping dragon in the eye.

"You could use a Reducing Charm, if you want that fixed." 

Draco wheeled around to find Hermione peering over his turtle. "How long have you been standing there?"

Hermione shrugged in a not-so-casual way. "Long enough to notice your turtle having a humpback. Are you trying to do a remake of 'Hunchback of Notre dame'? Because if you ask me, I'd say he'll do a pretty good impersonation of Quasimodo." She prodded on the turtle, which continued to emit bubbles. "Oh, and did you give him soap to eat, too?"

"It's not funny," Draco snarled. 

"Sorry," Hermione said in a resigned tone. "You can just ask, you know."

"_Ask you_? What are you talking about?"

"Do you want my help with that? I could help you."

"Do I _look_ like I need help?" said Draco, sarcasm oozing in his voice. "Gee, Granger, I thought you were clever. _Honestly_." Draco stormed off, fuming.

Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation, and watched as Draco walked away and sat with his back facing the class. "Fine," she muttered. She knew she couldn't use the Reducing charm; she had to stop the bubbles coming out from the turtle, too. Picking her wand from the pockets of her robes, she pointed the end at the turtle and mumbled, "_Finite Incantatem_." Instantly, the turtle stopped emitting bubbles and was returned to its original size. Giving a satisfied sigh, she swiftly went back to her table.

Draco saw what Hermione did from the back of the room, where he had spent the last few minutes steaming. He slowly crept back to his table, where his turtle was now crawling languidly on his desk. Draco smiled as he stroked its shell, and when he glanced up, he saw Hermione's lips twitch upward ever so slightly, then turned away.

Just then, Professor McGonagall had gone to Draco's table to check on how he had done. "Very good, Mr. Malfoy. One of the best yet, I would say." She gave him a prim smile. "Ten points to Slytherin."

This had made the Gryffindors shoot particularly nasty looks to the Slytherins, to Draco especially, but the smug air of the Slytherins took the wind out of their sails. Draco didn't mind them, although he carried it off with poise and confidence.

With that, the bell rang, which signaled that classes had ended. Both the Gryffindors and Slytherins made their way out of the doors, which were located at both ends of the room. Draco tidied away his things, not in a hurry to leave.

Hermione gathered up her things, and followed Harry and Ron out of the classroom. Across the room she saw Draco collecting his school things and shoving them in his bag. Silently she walked towards Draco, and whispered, "Guess we're even." Draco glanced up, and Hermione gave him a smile, turned away, and in a fleeting moment she was gone.

Draco got his bag and carried it over his right shoulder, treading his away out of the classroom, Hermione's words still playing in the inner recesses of his mind. 

_Guess we're even_. 

He walked silently back to his dormitory, couldn't help suppressing a smile.

_Yes, Hermione, I guess we are._

* * * * *

Draco walked silently across the fifth floor, keeping a wary eye out for prefects who might be roaming around the corridor. He knew he shouldn't go out alone in the wake of the night, especially at times like this, when Sirius Black was on the loose, but he didn't know what else to do.

He hadn't been able to sleep well; every time he tried, dreams, all vivid, horrible and sometimes dangerous nightmares, come to him, awakening in his mind, like a ghostly image of hell, and then he'd wake up, his back soaked in perspiration, sweat forming on his forehead and dripping all the way down to his chin, his breath coming in steadying gasps. He didn't want to sleep again; he didn't want his dreams to finish him off. 

And so here he was, creeping in the stillness of the night, his feet carrying him and his heart pounding in his head as he tried to find his way to the one place he had often went to at night. It was the only place that he found calm and solace, which he really needed right now. 

Draco turned the knob with clammy hands, went in, and closed the door behind him. He leaned his back on the door, inhaling deeply as he took in the freshness of the night, tinged with a very distinct fragrance he knew all to well. 

Draco looked around, and in his surprise, found somebody who was already there, sitting on his usual place by the tower. He looked closely, and saw the familiar tangle of caramel brown hair cascaded all over her face, her eyes intent on a worn book she was holding. As if sensing his presence, the girl looked up, and Draco saw the astonishment flit across her eyes, reflecting his own.

"Malfoy?" was all she could say. She goggled at him, unable to mask her surprise.

Draco stayed where he was, and didn't say anything. 

"What are you doing here?" she asked, rather weakly, brushing the fringe away from her eyes.

Normally, Draco would have thought of something intelligible to say, a retort there, a snotty remark here, but his mind drew a blank, which was a very rare occurrence for him. He felt weak, as if walking all the way from his dormitory to the Astronomy Tower drained all his energy. Instead, he remained silent. _You could just go,_ he thought, looking at Hermione. _ Or you could stay. _

Instinctively, he turned around and started toward the door. "Wait," he heard Hermione's voice call behind him. "Stay."

Draco wheeled around, and saw Hermione scooting over to make a place for him to sit. With a questioning gaze, he sat beside Hermione, leaning his back on the tower.

Silence hovered between them, as both of them said nothing, but it wasn't an awkward, tensed silence; it was more like a soothing, peaceful sort of silence. They both sat along the tower, their backs leaning on its rough surface, watching as the stars sparkled like little dots of white light from a distance. Draco found it strange, to be even sitting beside Hermione, a person he barely knew, and even more so, to be actually with her in the Astronomy Tower (which was very popular with reasons not related to Astronomy), watching the night sky from afar. It felt different... and strangely_ right_. 

"How are you?" asked Hermione, breaking the stillness between them. She was looking far away into the night, and Draco noticed that she was fingering the book she was holding.

"I'm fine, actually," Draco answered quietly. He peered over the book that Hermione was holding. "What's that?" he asked curiously.

Hermione blushed, and hastily hid the book behind her back and out of sight. "Nothing."

"Oh come on." Before Hermione had time to react, Draco had reached behind her back and got the book.

To Draco's surprise, Hermione just fell silent, her face averted from him. Draco flipped the book open. It was a Muggle book, and from the looks of it, was a kind of a story book, with pictures of a man and a woman in fancy medieval clothes dancing across the floor, and a castle that loomed behind them. When he snapped the book shut, he saw the title of the book: _Cinderella_.

Draco gave the book back to Hermione, who hid it away, crimson colouring her cheeks. She cleared her throat, and asked. "Do you believe in miracles?"

Draco gave her a funny look. "Why should I?"

Hermione turned to look at him - Draco thought she was going to tell him off - but just gave him a sad smile. "You're right. Why should you?"

Draco studied her features, and noted that there were dark circles under her eyes, and her eyes sparkled a gloomy dark brown. She looked very, very tired, and somehow older than she really was. "What's the story all about?" he asked, wanting to change topics.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you want to know?"

_Would I even ask if I didn't want to?_ he started, but bit back the words at the last moment. Hermione looked so sad; he just couldn't bear to stay spiteful to her. Instead, he nodded. 

Draco listened with rapt interest as Hermione filled him in on the details of the fairy tale. Draco watched her, and felt peaceful, just looking at her like that, talking softly, her eyes sparkling, although the sadness in her eyes didn't quite go away. 

"I wish... life was just like that." Draco heard the wistfulness in her voice, much like the wistfulness he sometimes feel. 

"But you know it isn't."

"I know." Hermione sighed, tucking a curly strand of brown hair behind her ear. "But it doesn't hurt to dream and believe it either."

Draco didn't answer, as coherent thoughts unconsciously detached from him, leaving mixed-up and conflicting emotions behind, most of which he didn't know what. Just Hermione's soft-spoken words made an impact on him, igniting the fuel of emotion long inside him. 

Hermione gazed at Draco from the corner of her eye. She had been surprised to see him. Of course, she had been here all the time, and Draco must have been, too, from the look of surprise he'd given her momentarily. She felt her heart pounding in her chest, as the vision of Draco just sitting beside her, his face absent of that familiar sneer she was used to seeing almost everyday. It was hard to believe, but it was there. _He_ was there.

Draco glanced up, and he saw a shooting star. "Hermione, look."

Hermione's eyes went up, saw the shooting star glowing in the night sky, and shut her eyes again. Draco smiled inwardly, as knowledge told him, according to myth, when you see a shooting star, make a wish and it will come true. But he privately thought it was just load of dung, made to fool the gullible. 

But this time, maybe, _just maybe_, it will be different.

Draco closed his eyes, and wished.

After a few moments Draco opened his eyes, and found Hermione beside him, wearing a wistful expression on her face. "What did you wish for?" he asked softly.

"I can't tell you. It won't come true if I did," Hermione replied simply. Suddenly she got up, her hand held out to Draco. Draco looked up at her with a tentative expression, took it, and got up. 

"I have to go. It's getting late," said Hermione, gazing up in Draco's eyes.

Draco saw the liquid emotion ebb and flow in her auburn eyes, and saw himself reflected in those eyes. He forced himself to look away. As much as he didn't want her to go, she had her reason. And so, he just nodded.

Hermione raised her left hand and touched his right cheek lightly, which felt tingly under her touch. Draco held his breath, waiting; Hermione drew her hand away, and gave him a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, then left and walked away.

Draco stood rigid for a moment, softness and warmth intermingling in just one touch, sending a certain ease of feeling in him. Draco closed his eyes, savouring the moment, ethereal and real at the same time, as if that one little gesture was enough to last for a lifetime.

Draco turned to his right, where Hermione had been sitting a few moments ago, and as clouds slid apart, allowing a generous amount of moonlight, and there, the cover gleaming in the pale moonlight, he saw it: Hermione's book.

Draco crouched, slowly picked the book from the ground, straightened up and started towards the door.

* * * * *

Draco entered the Slytherin common room, Hermione's book in his hand, settling himself in a deep emerald-colored couch in front of the fireplace; absentmindedly, he pulled out his wand. He pointed it at the fireplace and a happy crackle of fire emerged from the hearth, warming him from the coldness of the room. Despite being just the start of summer, the dungeons still gave its inhabitants a feeling of coldness, but Draco was used to this.

Draco stared at the hardbound book on his hands. It looked as if it was rather old, judging from the faint. musky smell that came from it, hinting at its age, which was probably a good ten years. As he flipped the book open, he noticed something written across the first page, which read: _To Hermione, with love from Mum and Dad_. 

Draco proceeded to reading the story (even as Hermione had given him the short version earlier) and found himself smiling bemusedly at random intervals, stopping at a page to admire the colorful illustrations, noting that some of them had little pink and green scribbles, which he inferred were made by Hermione when she was younger, and before he had known it, he had finished the story.

He snapped the book shut and sat comfortably on the couch, staring at the fire.

_I know. But it doesn't hurt to dream and believe it either._

Hermione's words rang through his head, feeling a slight twinge in his heart, much like a soft stirring of sudden understanding.

With a last look at the book, its hardbound cover reflecting light from the fire, which he was holding rather closely to his chest, he closed his eyes and fell into quiet sleep.

~~tbc... 

Thanks to those who reviewed my work before, and here they are:

Cle, JessicaCMalfoy, Plumeria, Becka (Draco's one and only), Baz, Sweetdreamz2414, Just another anonymous reviewer, Tionne, MOI, Chrisseee667, Black Dreamz, Zany, Katma, Lestat, akira, Certified Potterite, Princess of Mirrors... 

Thanks so much to all of you!! You certainly make writing an amazing experience!! :-)


	3. Denial

a/n: I'm really sorry it took a long time for me to write this chapter. It killed me... well, for a lot of reasons, solely because of schoolwork, and I was having a bit of a mental block. Anyway, I tried to do my best to come up with something entirely different, and I do hope you like it. Feedbacks are greatly appreciated. *grin*

Anyway, watch out for a chapter 3 vignette, which I will be writing as soon as possible, to make up for this chapter. For the meantime, I hope you'll enjoy yourself with this. *smiles serenely*

This chapter is dedicated to you, and to Loreen, for being the cheerful person that she is. :)

For the people who reviewed the first two chapters: Beryl1196, draco'sgurl, Shadow Child, Mirei Nochi, Nadesico, Becka, Baz, SweetDreamz2414, and to the anonymous reviewer :), thanks so much! I couldn't do this without you! This chapter's dedicated to you. :)

Disclaimer: Like I said before, I don't own Harry Potter.

_________________________________________________________________________________________

**Uncertainties**

**Chapter 3 - Denial**

_Love – the more you suppress it, the more it grows._

  
Hermione stared at her schedule in hand, to the pile of books scattered on the entire span of the hard oak table in the far left corner of the library, and then back. She was currently taking refuge in the library, where it was quiet enough for her to study her lessons.

_Oh dear_, she thought pensively. _What did I get myself into?_

"Oh well," she said softly to herself, chewing the end of her quill. "Might as well make do of my time."

She reached out and pulled a hard-bound book, _A Closer Look on Animagi_, and propped it open against the hard wood. She picked her quill, stared down the page, scanning for the right information that would help her write her essay for Professor McGonagall.

Hermione pulled out a roll of parchment from her school bag, then turned to the book and read:

_Animagus transformation, one of the many branches of Transfiguration, allows a witch or a wizard to turn into an animal at will. Wizards or witches who can turn into animals are called _Animagi_ (sing. _Animagus_). Such transformations are determined by what animal a wizard can become, depending on the capabilities and the power of the wizard performing the said transformation. Markings are indicated to identify them from other animals when they transform._

_However, this kind of transformation is very complex since it involves immensely complicated spells and charms in the process. If done incorrectly, this transformation can go horribly wrong; one of the many reasons why wizards who are attempting to do it are being closely watched by the Ministry of Magic._

Hermione dipped her quill into the scarlet ink and began to write, stopping for a while to get some more books related to Animagus transformations, browsing for more information that can add up to her essay. After an hour, she reached for her measuring tape and measured her homework, which was fifteen inches more than the requirement. Smiling to herself, she rolled her parchment and tucked it into her bag.

"Hey, Hermione," a voice suddenly from behind her whispered.

Hermione wheeled around and found Ron clutching a heavy stack of books. "Hey, Ron," she said casually, eyeing the books he held. "Are those for homework?"

Ron shook his head and held out a rather think leather-bound volume titled, _The Handbook of Hippogriff Psychology._ "These are for Buckbeak's case," he answered, casually taking a seat beside Hermione and placing the books on the table. He peered around, eyeing the cluttered pieces of parchments and books spread out on the entire table. "God, Hermione, you're something else. This is too much work." He picked up a particularly large hard-bound book placed precariously on the top of the stack. "And what's this? _A Study of Ancient Runes?_" Flicking the book open, he scanned the pages and stopped at a page where he found a set symbols he couldn't quite understand. "What are you studying this for, anyway? I mean, look," – he pointed at the page with his finger – "I bet you can't even translate these things."

Hermione snatched the book away from him and looked at the page Ron had indicated. Screwing her brows thoughtfully, she translated for him evenly, "Love is a many-splintered thing." 

"_What?_" Judging from the expression on Ron's face, he clearly wasn't expecting an answer.

"The Rune translation. It says 'Love is a many-splintered thing'," she repeated, a twinge of feeling somewhere in her heart. _Too true_, she added to herself.

Ron glared at her. "Know-it-all," he grumbled.

"Oh, shut up, Ron," Hermione snapped waspishly. "What's it to you anyway?"

"Nothing," he replied, brushing a few strands of red hair from his forehead. "Looks like an awful lot of work, if you ask me."

Hermione gave him a wan smile. "It is. But I like it."

Ron shrugged, as if in resignation. "Alright. Then I'll leave you to it." He picked up his books and stood up. "Oh, and don't bury your head in a book too much. You may never get it off," he added with a grin.

"Yes, Ron," giggled Hermione. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

Ron peered down at his books and scowled. "If you could just hypnotize Malfoy into saying it was all his fault then we wouldn't have to go through all this work."

Hermione cringed inwardly at the sound of Draco's name. "Go away, Ron," said Hermione, without looking up. "I'll see you later."

Ron turned to look at Hermione in surprise, but Hermione kept her gaze averted from him. "See you."

Hermione drew a deep breath, staring off at the open book with unseeing eyes, listening until Ron's footsteps died away. She looked down and traced the Rune translation with her finger.

"Love is a many-splintered thing," she read quietly, a persistent stirring behind her eyes.

There it was again. Another painful reminder of what she felt for Draco.

_This will have to wait_, she thought, rising up from her chair. _I need a break._

She strolled around the library, walking in between shelves, her mind wandering with a steady stream of thoughts about life and Draco Malfoy.

A week had passed ever since that unexpected meeting in the Astronomy tower. But she could recall everything vividly, like it was yesterday. It was as if anything related to Draco was constantly etched in the back of her mind.

It wasn't as if she'd never seen him before. In fact, she would spend hours just looking at him, in class, or in the Great Hall, watching him from a distance, wishing that she could just do more than stare at him. Sometimes, along the school corridors, she'd take occasional glimpses of him, usually flanked with Crabbe and Goyle, his expression unreadable and far away.

But that night, in the tower, he looked... different. It was as if he was a completely different person, his manner devoid of his usual sheer arrogance and hostility, his face a luminous pale in the moonlight, his eyes burning with a familiar flame evoking a simple emotion, and he was _human_ once again; vulnerable, alone. 

Hermione never got the chance to talk to him after that night. They were both too hung up with their lives, especially now with their Houses at the peak of rivalry, with the Quidditch finals and all.

One week was gone. And Draco...

It was a bitter reminder of what should never be. And it hurts.

_Wake up, Hermione. Stop dreaming_, she thought bitterly. _You can't have him._

Hermione rounded a corner... and walked straight into someone that snapped her out of her rueful reverie.

"Ow." Hermione massaged her head, squinting as she tried to see who she had just bumped into.

Shiny platinum blonde-hair stung her eyes. She blinked twice.

"Draco?" she croaked out.

Draco glared at her. "Watch where you're going, Granger." He gracefully sidestepped Hermione, and without looking, he turned and walked away.

Hermione watched, frozen, as he slinked and disappeared into the shadows. A surge of white-hot emotion shot through her, like mercury coursing in her veins with every beat, as she stood, hidden in the shadows of the library, unable to move. 

After a couple of minutes in shock, she finally treaded her way back to the far left corner of the library, a continual stinging in her eyes as she fought back tears, blurring her vision. Blindly, she picked up her things and shoved them in her bag with shaking hands, stiffened resolve almost crumbling away. 

She drew a deep breath and stared down, sudden realization hitting her like a ton of bricks, jolting her to her senses, wiping away every wistful fantasy that she had carelessly made out in her head.

Draco was himself again.

* * * * *

"Malfoy! Bludger!" yelled a voice some ten feet below Draco. Just in time, he looked up to see a Bludger pelting out of nowhere. In a green-and-brown haze, he gripped his Nimbus and turned, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with Derrick, one of the Slytherin Beaters. Glaring at the offending beater and swearing inwardly, he sped off toward the goal posts, keeping a look-out for the tiny golden Snitch.

_Come on_, Draco pleaded silently, his eyes scanning desperately for a glimmer of gold. He badly wanted practice to end, but until he didn't catch the Snitch, he'd go on playing until forever.

Draco pointed his broom upward, stopping a few feet above the rest of the field, looking around. He turned, and as he did, to his heart's delight, saw the Snitch, glittering near the goal post at the other end of the field. Pointing his broom downward, he dived, felt the air whipping at his face as he did so, held out his hand, and grabbed the Snitch.

Marcus Flint, the Slytherin Team Captain, beckoned the team to go down. Draco gave out a sigh of relief, and landed from his broom on the grass with a soft thud. Just as he was about to head to the locker rooms, he heard Flint call him.

Running a hand through his hair, Draco reluctantly sauntered over, shouldering his broom. "What?"

Flint cleared his throat, and said, "You're out of it today. Clearly, your mind's somewhere else."

Draco said nothing.

"See here, Malfoy. I don't care what's bothering you, but just to make my point clear," said Flint, frowning at Draco, a steely glint in his eye, "if you want that Quidditch Cup, you'd better catch that Snitch before Potter does or you're out of here."

Draco narrowed his eyes, but he remained silent.

Flint straightened up and signaled to the other members of the team. "Alright. Practice is over. Let's get back to the dungeons." He turned to Draco. "We _have_ to win. Keep that in mind." Shouldering his own broom, he walked away and left Draco alone in the field.

Draco stared at the ground, gripping the Snitch rather tightly in his hand. He couldn't afford to lose. Losing was not in his vocabulary. But then, when you're being constantly paired with someone like Harry Potter, you'd know.

Defeat was such a bitter song, and he knew the melody all too well.

He felt angry at himself, for being caught up and not paying attention, for wishing of things that are simply impossible, and most of all, for losing himself to someone he knew he couldn't have.

Sighing, he let the Snitch in his hand go. He mounted his broom and zoomed away, heard the wind swish softly in his ears. He had always loved flying. He liked how it felt; the wind blowing around him as he sped off, his surroundings morphing into a hazy blur, rearranging itself to make him its focal point, as if nature was at his beckoning. When he flew, he felt free, the soft breeze blanketing him in the skies, its sheer pleasure making him feel secure and light, making him forget his problems momentarily.

He turned again, and saw the Astronomy Tower from a distance, and felt a sudden pang as memories of stars and books and pain came to him, a particular face with bright brown eyes and hair of caramel curls flashing momentarily at the back of his mind. Only one person can make him feel that way, make him feel as if he was flying, but ironically, it was another problem altogether, and for now, he didn't want to think about it. 

He rose up in the air, twenty – thirty – forty feet up. He felt suddenly so alone, so confused. He didn't know what to think anymore, didn't know what's right and what he really wants. He felt so torn, torn between his feelings, trying to keep his emotions under control when they frequently threatened to spill over. He hated the fact that he had to face that great internal struggle, at how he couldn't ignore what his mind tells him when his heart screamed otherwise. 

He hated the way Hermione affects him, without her even knowing. He didn't want her in the first place, and he was furious at himself for choosing to fall for her, when he knew for a fact that it wouldn't work. It wasn't fair, to push her away, because it would hurt her, and it was the last thing he'd do to her. But pride and rejection always get in the way of love, and so he did what he thought was sensible to do: push his feelings away.

As he rose up, he saw a shimmer of gold in the corner of his eye, and when he turned, he saw the Snitch hovering near the ground. For a moment, he hesitated, but then he dived towards the ground, flung himself on his broom, and caught the Snitch with his hand.

Draco climbed out from his broom, heading towards the trunk where the Quidditch balls were kept. He stopped in front of the open trunk, staring at the golden ball on his hand.

He didn't have a choice._ You can't love her. Let it go. _

He clutched the ball tighter in his hand. _We have to win. _

He knew how to win. He just doesn't have enough reason to.

* * * * *

"Come on. Let's get to lunch," said Ron, clutching his stomach. Harry, Ron and Hermione had had their Potions, and in Hermione's case, Arithmancy and Muggle Studies, but Harry and Ron didn't need to know that.

"Yeah, let's. I haven't eaten properly since morning. That potion Snape assigned us to make made me sick," said Harry, making a face as he and Ron stepped out of the dungeons. He looked around. "Where's Hermione?"

"Here," said a voice from his left. Harry turned and saw Hermione sitting at the foot of a bizarre-looking statue, fixing her things.

Harry and Ron exchanged surprised glances, as if to say "How did she do that?" Harry cleared his throat and looked down. "Coming, Hermione?"

"Yes. Just in a bit," replied Hermione, hastily snapping her bag shut. Ron held out a hand, Hermione took it, and shouldered her bag, mumbling in gratitude. 

Ron shook his head. "Seriously, Hermione. I'd be surprised if by the end of the year you're still functioning in one piece." 

"And I'd be surprised if you end up passing Divination in one piece," she grumbled, tucking a strand of her curly caramel hair behind her ear. 

"You're hardly to talk," Ron retorted. "You only dropped Divination because you know you're no good at it!"

Hermione's eyes became wide with indignation and started to say, "For your infor–"

"Alright, fight's over," Harry quickly interrupted, stepping in between them. They started to climb up the steps, squeezing right into the school corridor teeming with students in a hurry to get to the Great Hall for lunch.

Hermione heard Harry whisper to Ron, "That wasn't very nice." She looked over at Ron, whose ears were turning an attractive shade of pink, but didn't say anything.

None of them said anything for the last few seconds until a cold familiar laugh from behind Hermione made them turn around.

"Well, well, well. What have we got here?" It was Draco Malfoy, along with Crabbe and Goyle, a sneer playing on his thin lips.

Ron gritted his teeth. "What do you want?" 

Draco raised his eyebrow and gave him a cold smile. Hermione looked at him in surprise, and wished she hadn't seen him smile. "Careful, Weasley. One wrong move and you'll definitely turn into a tomato." Crabbe and Goyle sniggered in response.

Hermione felt Harry's hands clenching and unclenching into fists. _Oh no_, she thought anxiously. This was the last thing she needed to happen in this otherwise unfortunate day.

Harry's eyes narrowed into green slits of fury. "Go to hell, Malfoy."

Malfoy laughed. Hermione cringed, his laugh echoing in her ears and chilling her heart. It was the coldest sound she had ever heard. "Don't worry. I'll see to it that you're going with me."

Harry got his wand out. "Then I'll make sure you get there first."

Draco snatched his own wand, his grey eyes spitting with sparks of fury, and brandished it at Harry. "Try me," he challenged, his face set. He held his wand between his fingers, poised for action. But in a blink of an eye, Hermione quickly stepped in between them.

"Granger, get out of the way, you–" Draco started to say, but Hermione rounded on him, her eyes flashing furiously.

"What, Malfoy? Thinking of saying Mudblood again?" she asked angrily, her voice shaking with suppressed fury. "Then think again." She got her wand out and pointed it at Draco with a trembling hand. "Give me one good reason to do this, Malfoy, and I swear I will."

Draco stared at her coldly, but she met his gaze evenly, neither of them saying a word, like a moment caught in time.

Hermione forced herself to wrench her gaze away from Draco, and she spoke, the quiver in her voice belying her self-control. "Go away, Malfoy." She paused meaningfully. "Or else I'll make you."

Draco lowered his wand slowly, the blank expression on his face replaced by a cold smile. With a last fleeting look he strode away, with Crabbe and Goyle following his steps, who earlier backed way in a dent in the wall, just in case Harry and Draco decided to have a showdown.

Hermione gave out a sigh of relief, pocketing her own wand. Turning to Harry and Ron, she grabbed them both by the arms. 

"Whoa, Hermione," was all Ron could say. She shrugged.

"Hey Herm, thanks," said Harry, a bit abashed.

"Oh don't," said Hermione, brushing it away. "Let it go. He's not worth your time anyway." She only wished he wasn't worth her time, too.

* * * * *

Hermione strode along a dark passageway, concentrated on putting her books in her school bag, which was rather cramped with other books. "Oh come on," she grumbled pleadingly, fumbling for the lock, which didn't close.

"Funny you should be here, Granger."

Hermione whirled around to find Draco leaning against the wall with his arms crossed on his chest, his face illuminated by the flickering flame of the passageway.

"Why should I not be?" she retorted, giving up the idea of shutting her bag close, and watched Draco closely.

"Because this is the passageway to the Slytherin Dungeons," he answered evenly. "_You're_ not a Slytherin."

"So what? This is Hogwarts, and I can go wherever I want to," she reasoned haughtily. "Besides, I'm off to see Professor Snape for the Potions assignment anyway."

Draco's lips twisted into something in between a smile and a smirk. "But you see, Snape's classroom goes the other way. And seeing the direction you're going, you're clearly off to our dormitory," he said pointedly. "So unless there's another way you can get to Snape's classroom, which I'm very sure there isn't, I don't see any point going that way, right?"

Hermione's cheeks flushed crimson, the color magnified even more by the dim firelight. "Fine, then. Don't show off." She clutched her bag tightly, willing herself to walk away, but she didn't move.

Silence followed for what seemed like an eternity, until Draco spoke up. "What do you want?"

Hermione's gaze followed Draco as he gracefully pushed himself away from the wall and walked a few steps until he was facing her, but still putting a respectable distance between them. She was struck at how Draco's movements were always graceful and confident. There was something about him that was always elegant and self-assured. Perhaps it was because he was rich, or his genes, or some terribly unfair combination of the two. She stared hard into his eyes, which were always unreadable, trying to decipher what he was feeling. She had so much things to say, so many questions she wanted to ask, innumerable words to tell him, but she couldn't. The words escaped her before she could grasp them, like grains of sand between her fingers; her throat seemed constricted, rendering her speechless. She took a deep breath. "I-I j-just–" she stammered. Moments ticked by, and she couldn't continue.

Draco tapped his shoe impatiently. "What? I don't have all day," he demanded bitterly, coldness lancing through Hermione, searing her soul and crumpling any hope she might have had. 

Hermione watched him, his face betraying nothing. She narrowed her eyes, as if to see Draco in a completely new light, and it was just him and her and the bitter reality around them. "Why are you always like this? Why do you keep on acting as if everything's just normal?" She was so tired; so exhausted of pushing everything away, pretending that things are fine, when in fact they're not; so tired of getting hurt when he doesn't even know.

"Why shouldn't everything be normal? Things are perfectly fine." Draco shrugged. "Nothing's changed." 

"_Nothing's changed?_" Hermione repeated incredulously. "What is this? Some kind of insensitivity program that I haven't heard of?" She knew she shouldn't be surprised, because this was Draco, but somehow, a part of her didn't want to believe that. And it hurt. "And I suppose last week was just some game to you," Hermione said bitterly, unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice. "Here I was, thinking that somehow, you've changed, and maybe, you cared about me..."

Draco saw the undisguised hurt that was shimmering in her eyes, and he suddenly felt an irrepressible pang in his heart. It showed him the truth, the emotion that was softening her expression, the tone of plea laced in her voice, showed him his uncertainty, and his fear of acknowledging something he knew deep down he feels for her. 

He raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think I cared about you?" he asked, unable to keep malice from his voice.

Hermione flinched, Draco's words jolting her to her senses, feeling the heat creeping up her cheeks. Her reply choked within her, and to her horror, instead of being revolted, found herself feeling mortified.

"Right," she said, her voice trembling with emotion, "why should you feel anything, much less even care for me? You never felt anything for anyone. You don't know what love is, or how it is to love, because you were always proud, and you're bitter and insensitive." She shook her head in desperation. "I've always thought you were different, but now, I think you're just one cynical snob who couldn't care less about what happens around."

Draco laughed humourlessly. "Thanks for that astute observation, Granger, and which all the more proves my point. I really don't care."

Something in Draco's voice made her ask, "Is that what you really want? To not care?" 

"You don't know half of what's bothering me, Hermione," he retorted angrily. "Stop pretending that you understand." 

"And you do?"

"This is my life," he answered non-committedly.

Hermione bit her lip, trying to fight back tears, but she couldn't take it anymore. She lowered her face and hastily wiped the tears away. Draco saw this, quelling the urge to take his words back and hug her in his arms.

Hermione glanced up at Draco, her eyes shining with fresh new tears, fighting to keep her voice steady as she spoke. "All my life, I've waited for someone who would pick me up and hold me tight, and I thought I found him. He was perfect, and I loved him," she said, feeling an empty wistfulness in her heart. "But I was wrong. I thought he loved me. But now I know he didn't. He never did."

Draco drew a deep breath and looked away. "Yes, he did," he blurted out.

"What do you mean?"

Draco closed his eyes, trying to search for the right words. "He cared for you so much that he walked away. Simply because he didn't want to hurt you." 

Hermione gaped at Draco, incomprehension lacing her voice. "But he didn't care back then. Why should he care now?"

Draco didn't answer. He opened his eyes and stared at Hermione, saw himself reflected in those clear, brown eyes, reflecting everything he felt for her and showing him everything he needed to know.

Hermione brushed her tears and took a deep breath, taking a step back into the shadows, watching as Draco's face flickered in and out of the light. "You know what? Just... forget it." She turned on her heel and started to walk up the corridor, out of that passageway and into the Great Hall, where she had to face that bitter and painful reality.

Draco closed her eyes, feeling every ounce of resolution crumbling away. It was now or never.

He held out his hand and gripped Hermione gently by the arm. "Wait."

The touch was electrifying and spent familiar shocks of feeling through Hermione's arm. Hermione looked up expectantly, her eyes shining with unshed tears in the dimness.

"Because," he started, looking at Hermione straight in the eye, "there was a man who loved you too much to change him." With that, he turned and left without another word.

* * * * *

Hermione walked wanderingly across the Entrance Hall, her mind reeling with thoughts, which was coherent one time, then fell apart the next. Her footsteps echoed and bounced off the walls in the deserted corridor, creating a distinct sense of unease. She sighed deeply, trying to clear her mind of thoughts of Draco, but to no avail. Silently, she pushed the great oak doors open and walked outside the grounds. 

Hermione paused and sat down on a patch of grass near the lake, looking around her. The sun was setting, splashing golden crimson colours across the horizons, like fire blazing in the sky. She shifted her eyes and watched the lake, looking like a black mirror, reflecting the sky above, sparkling with enigmatic beauty. She watched as the water lapped harmlessly along the bank, its blackness hinting at its depth. She vaguely wondered what it was like deep down in the lake. It was a mystery, yet it was still beautiful in its own mystic way.

Hermione edged near the bank of the lake, dipping her hand in it. The water was cold and searing to the touch, but she kept her hand in the water, ignoring the ice-cold pain numbing her fingers. She held out her palm; the searing ache was strangely familiar._ Is this how it feels like to love someone? To burn in cold fire?_

A distinct rustle ensued from her right, and she looked up in surprise. She got on her feet and walked cautiously across the grass, scanning the grounds with a wary eye. A furtive movement caught her eye, and when she turned, felt her heart leap.

Hermione ran across the edge of the forest and saw pale white skin just a few feet away from her. She moved closer, and as she did, felt her blood run cold.

Draco was lying on the ground, his eyes closed, his clothes drenched with crimson, the stain looking dangerously like blood. There were bruises across his skin, and he was bleeding. He looked like he lost a lot of blood. Hermione fell to her knees, kneeling beside him on the grass, and as she did, felt little drops of water splattering on her. It was raining. Gently, she touched his forehead. _God, he's cold._

A nagging anxiety started building up in her. She wanted to get help, but she couldn't leave him in the rain like this. _Oh God,_ she prayed fervently, keeping her eyes open in the rain. _Help Draco._

Something furry brushed her arm. It was Crookshanks, drenched with water and blood, purring softly. She looked up, and saw movement in the bushes.

"Help! Help! Anybody, please!" Hermione yelled through the rain, hoping that what was behind the bushes was someone who could help her.

Something tugged at her robes. Crookshanks was pulling at her sleeves, its yellow eyes fixated on her.

Hermione cradled Draco's head in her hands. "What should I do, Crookshanks? Help me – Draco – he's going to die if I leave him here," she told Crookshanks, her voice trembling. She bit her lip, and it tasted salty. She hadn't known she was crying; it was hard to tell in the rain. Feeling desperate, she brushed the water away. _I don't even know for sure if he's still alive,_ she added to herself.

Crookshanks purred loudly this time, and his tugging was becoming insistent. Hermione looked from Draco to Crookshanks, and seemed to understand what it wanted her to do. With stiffened resolve, she carefully carried Draco into her arms, staggering a little under his weight. Straightening up, she glanced down at Draco. Despite the bruises, he looked like a helpless baby, and if it weren't for the blood, she would have thought that he was only sleeping.

With Draco in her arms, she treaded her way across the grounds and into the rain, her robes splotched with grass and mud and blood, only one thing in mind. _Please, let Draco live._

~tbc...


	4. Going Back

**Uncertainties**

**Chapter Four: Going Back**

_Time is a fleeting moment... it passes swiftly and you can't turn it back._

_The sky was filled with clouds, which were unusually grey. It was dusk, the sun ceasing into patches of crimson overhead . A distant rumbling is heard. Soon, it will rain._

_Hermione took two tentative steps, hearing the grass beneath her rustle as she did so. She looked around. It felt eerily familiar, but strange all the same._

_She walked ahead, unconscious of her surroundings. The place was, well, beautiful, in a deep, sad sort of way. She thought there was nothing else like it. _

_To her right, a river streamed by, shimmering like a thin silver ribbon amidst the gathering darkness. As she walked closer, she saw a silhouette of a boy playing near the bank. He looked familiar._

_Cautiously, she approached the boy. Even in the darkness, his silver blonde hair was unmistakable._

_"Draco?" she blurted out._

_The boy glanced up, without even the slightest trace of surprise. It was as if he expected her to come. "You're here to help me, right?"_

_Hermione stared at him. So this was Draco, a few years back when he was a child. Good. She could handle this._

_"Yeah, I reckon so. Why would you need help anyway?" Hermione asked, propping on her knees beside him._

_Little Draco, with his eyes so grey it looked almost blue, turned to stare at her. "I made a boat, but the river washed it away. I need to get it back."_

_Hermione gave him a faint smile. He looked so innocent, it hurt. Where had she seen this before? She looked around, and then, she remembered. She'd seen him this way before, up in the Astronomy Tower._ _"We can't get it back anymore if the river washed it away."_

_"But I need it. It's important."_

_"I could make you another one," she offered._

_Draco shook his head. "No, I want my boat back."_

_Even as a child, he was still stubborn. Well then, she can take it. Mustering every bit of patience, she asked, "Why is it so important to you anyway?"_

_"It had my heart in it," Draco answered simply._

_Hermione goggled at him. "What?"_

_"I told you. It had my heart in it. If I don't find it, I can't have it back." He threw off his shirt and showed Hermione a hallow part of his chest. True enough, a black hole was gaping on his chest, right where his heart should have been._

_Hermione tried not to look too queasy. The hallow space made her feel uncomfortable. "But_ —_ why?"_

_"I have to give my heart to somebody. So she'll know how important she is to me."_

_Such words. Hermione felt her heart break into even smaller pieces. _

_Draco tugged at her sleeve. "I need it back. Could you help me with that?"_

_Hermione didn't know what to say. "I _ —_"_

_Without waiting for her to finish, he jumped into the river._

_"Draco, you can't! Are you out of your mind? It's dangerous!" Hermione shook her head in frustration. The river had a particularly strong current, and there was a huge possibility that he might drown. "Draco? Where are you?" she called out, anxiety making her heart pound a thousand times more. She ran along the river bank, looking out for a sign of Draco. "Draco!" She stopped at the end of the cliff, where the waterfall parted down and fell into a loud gush below. She dropped to her knees, straining her eyes. "Draco!" _

_A cold hand held hers. It was Draco, holding on to her, his white blond hair looking like silver licks of flame around his head. "I can't find it. I need you to help me find it," he said breathlessly._

_Hermione tried to hold him on. "Listen to me, Draco, you _can't._ It's too risky."_

_Draco shook his head. "_No. _I need to get it back," he shot back, struggling against the strong tide._

_Hermione took a deep breath and concentrated on Draco. One slip and he'll drown. _

_"Draco, you can't. See here. I'll grab hold of you. You have to get out of there. Once you're safe, we can concentrate on..." she paused, her mind grasping for the right words, "getting your heart back."_

_Draco could only stare at her _—_ his hands were slipping away from her _ —_ then, he said softly, "I think it's too late." _ — _and in a glimpse, he was gone._

Hermione woke up with a start. She opened her eyes, attempting to adjust with the darkness. It took a few minutes for her mind to register where she was. She had fallen asleep near the fire in the common room.

_It's okay,_ she told herself. _It's just a dream._

Slowly, she trudged her way upstairs to the girls' dormitory, where her roommates are fast asleep.

"Hermione? That you?" a sleepy voice asked. Hermione turned and found Lavender sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

"Yes, it's me. It's okay. Go back to sleep." Hermione gave her a smile. Lavender smiled weakly, then drew the hangings around her.

Hermione climbed into her four-poster and tried to sleep. But she couldn't. Sleep was trying to evade her, tired as she was. Even counting sheep didn't work.

_It's no use,_ Hermione thought, giving up. Silently, she got out of bed and stood in front of the mirror. The dormitory was dark, but there was sufficient moonlight for her to make out her reflection. There were tired circles under her eyes. Her hair was unkempt; absentmindedly she ran a hand through her hair, trying to remember her dream.

_I think it's too late._ Draco's feeble voice rang softly in her head.

Hermione gripped the thin gold necklace around her throat. _ I can't let it happen._

* * * * *

"Please, Madam Pomfrey. I need to see him," Hermione pleaded, looking anxiously around the hospital wing.

"It's midnight, Ms. Granger! You should be in your dormitory sleeping like everyone else is!" replied Madam Pomfrey irritably, clad in robes over her nightgown.

"Please. Just a few minutes," Hermione insisted, her eyes wide and pleading. "I promise this won't take long."

Madam Pomfrey regarded her with an eye, then sighed. "Oh, alright. But five minutes _only_."

"Thank you," said Hermione, relieved. She strode quickly towards where Draco was, lying in the hospital bed, his bruises standing out darkly against his pale skin. It looked like he was only sleeping; not peacefully, but quietly. It was hard not to think that he might be dead. 

Hermione held out her hand to touch Draco's face, but Madam Pomfrey came over and sat beside her, so she drew her hand away. "What happened to him?" she asked instead.

The school nurse looked at her in surprise. "I was going to ask you the same thing."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know. I thought, after treating him, you'd know." She tried to picture what had happened to Draco, then shuddered involuntarily as she remembered how he looked. "I just found him lying near the edge of the forest. "

"Good thing you did. He would have died if you didn't."

"Was it that bad?"

"It's even worse that you can imagine. It could be hypothermia or blood loss. Either way, we could have lost him." 

Hermione couldn't speak after that. It was Madam Pomfrey who broke the silence. "One more thing."

Hermione looked up. "What?"

Madam Pomfrey handed her a strip of what appeared to be black cloth, looking like it was hastily torn from someone's robes. Hermione flinched at the sight of blood, but she held out her arm. "Could I take a look at it?"

"Yes, of course." The school nurse handed it to her, then continued. "I found it while I was cleaning him up. It was used as a bandage over his wound, particularly on his right wrist. I was hoping you'd recognize it."

Hermione shook her head. "No." She held it between her fingers, stiff with dried blood. "It looks strangely familiar, though."

"Well, it was bandaged over his wound. It helped stop his blood loss." Madam Pomfrey bustled over to Draco, beckoning Hermione to take a look. "He's been bruised badly. It looks as if he's been hit hard by something or someone, we really don't know for sure. However, the particular wound on his right wrist is a bit jagged and deep. It looks as if he made it himself with a knife. You can't rule suicide out, after all." The nurse looked at her sharply. "You say you found him in the Forbidden Forest. He could have been in there." She sighed. "Dumbledore has already told the students to not go there. Why wouldn't he just listen?"

Hermione sat there, barely listening. Her mind was whirring. She felt a persistent stirring behind her eyes. "How could I let this happen?" she said so quietly that the nurse didn't hear her. Fighting back her tears, she tried to ask, "How is he?", but she couldn't. She couldn't know. Not like this. Not when Draco was trying to fight his own battle; winning to live, or losing to die.

Unable to bear it any longer she excused herself and went out of the infirmary. She treaded her way along the halls, casting a wary eye out, just in case some of the teachers were still roaming the castle for students out of bed. Instinctively, she reached for the gold chain around her neck, looking around, and found a broom closet just a few feet from her right. She hurried right inside it, a plan forming in her mind._ I'll save him, even if it meant risking changing history _ –_ anything _ – _just to get him back._

Without pausing, she drew out a tiny hourglass, her Time-Turner, and turned it three times. The closet dissolved in a rush. Her ears pounding, she closed her eyes, trying not to faint—

Her feet hit solid ground with a soft thud. She opened her eyes and found herself in the hallway. She had gone back in time.

Thinking of Draco, she pushed the oak doors and stepped outside. Seeing that no one else was around, she lurked behind the bushes, trying not to be seen. She remembered Professor McGonagall telling her to use the Time-Turner carefully, because no one was supposed to change time. She knew this was dangerous; it was a risk to go back and to try to alter history, but this was the only way she knew how to save Draco. She couldn't bear just standing, waiting for nothing, while Draco was just clinging on, holding on to dear life. She couldn't even live with the idea that he might die.

Hermione waited for a few minutes, settling on the ground behind the bushes. She peered in between the leaves, waiting — for what, she didn't know.

From where she was, she could see a cat with the familiar ginger bottle-brush tail edging near the forest, just a few feet away from her. She could feel her lips curl up in a smile. _Crookshanks,_ she thought, amused. _He must be out, trying to catch something to eat. _

She watched as the cat stretched on its legs, purring, its little mouth opening wide in a yawn. Suddenly, Crookshanks stopped and raised its nose, as if sniffing something in the air. It turned its face and tried to peer into the bushes where Hermione was hiding. Hermione backed away slowly, quietly as she could. _No, Crookshanks. Go on, leave me alone,_ she prayed inwardly, wishing that Crookshanks, in some way, must have a sort of extra-sensory perception and heed her this time. 

Hermione watched in trepidation as Crookshanks walked towards her. Hermione wanted to stay; but if she did, Crookshanks will surely see her. She looked around, and her eyes landed on a particular shrub just a few feet behind her. She noted it as an alternate hiding place. Hermione was gauging her chances; either option was likely. Hermione held her breath as the cat approached. Fortunately, a distinct noise distracted Crookshanks from carrying on. It purred and went on to follow the source of the noise, his paws creating a soft rustle on the grass. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. 

A loud creak told her that someone was coming out from the castle. She held her breath as the doors opened, and Draco emerged, hands in his pockets, his robes unclasped. She breathed sharply, making sure that she was completely hidden in the bushes, but still sufficiently far for her to see him.

Hermione watched as Draco edged near the lake, throwing pebbles across the waters. He went on like this, occasionally stopping to look for more pebbles to throw, then after a few minutes, settled himself on his back, gazing at the sky. 

Sighing, she shifted into a more comfortable position, careful not to disturb the bushes that might attract attention. _Oh Draco,_ she thought sadly, _ why do you do this to me?_

Hermione saw Draco suddenly got up, holding something in his hands. She strained her eyes, trying to see what it was. The sun was setting slowly, and she saw the faint glimmer of silver in between Draco's fingers as sunlight struck its blade. It was a penknife.

Her heart hammering in her chest, she quickly backed out of the bushes and crept quietly near the edge of the forest. From her left, she saw a tree that was low enough for her to climb its branches. Upon inspection, she had decided that it was a good hiding place; it was placed strategically just a few feet away from Draco, and its leaves were thick enough to hide her from view. She climbed its branches and settled herself, craning in between the leaves to ensure that Draco was still within eyesight. What she saw made her heart jump.

A python was slinking on the grass, its forked tongue lashing at Draco. Apparently Draco had decided to leave throwing stones in the lake to probe further into the forest. Upon seeing the python, he froze for a moment, but Hermione saw a faint trace of a smile on his lips. He moved closer to the python and tried to touch it. 

"No, Draco!" Hermione wanted to say, but she couldn't. Her words seemed stuck in her throat. She watched in horror as Draco bent to pick the python up, and it slithered onto his left arm. Hermione held her breath in anticipation; she knew pythons, like other snakes, were dangerous. One bite can poison him, which is even in itself lethal enough to kill him. But Draco didn't seem to bear this in mind. He absently patted its head.

Hermione was itching to get down and yank the python out of his hand, and probably give Draco a good whack on his head for playing with it, but she knew she couldn't._ You must not be seen, Hermione,_ she told herself sternly. _You can't stop him now. _But her heart screamed otherwise.

And then, the python raised its head — Hermione saw it in one fluid motion — next moment, it sank its fangs on Draco's right wrist. Hermione stifled a cry; Draco was bleeding. But Draco was anything but terrified. Swiftly, he got out his penknife, and in one fluid motion, he cut off the creature's head. The body, which was coiled around his left arm, hung limp; its head lay on the ground, its eyes on Draco, looking as if it was mocking him. 

Draco sat on the ground, listlessly removing the dead body around his arm. In agitation, he threw it as hard as he could. Draco stared at his wrist, then — nothing could have prepared Hermione for this — he slashed his wrist, right across where the python had bitten.

A faint sound from Hermione's left alerted her back to her senses. Draco must have heard it too, because he cocked his head toward the sound. _What was it? _She strained her ears, climbing another branch, careful not to create noise. She caught a faint meowing of a cat, which judging from its sound, was in deep distress.

Ignoring the sinking suspicion in her stomach, she created a gap in between the leaves, peering around. The Whomping Willow was in full view. Looking for the source of the sound, her eyes landed at the foot of the tree. What she saw made her gasp — the sound belonged to Crookshanks, trapped in between the roots, pawing and crying for help.

Hermione gripped her hands so tightly; she could feel her nails digging into her skin, but she didn't care. One after another, thoughts chased within her head. She needed to get Crookshanks, to save it at least; but she shouldn't be seen, and if she gets down from the tree, Draco would see her. She didn't want to break the law, but Crookshanks would die if she left him there.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to clear the thoughts in her head, but to no avail. She had to decide.

Choosing was always hard. Choosing a life over another was even worse. 

The sound of savaging branches jolted her back to reality. She opened her eyes, and then she saw Draco already propped on his knees at the foot of the Whomping Willow. For the first time in her life, she saw Draco looking scared; she could see hesitation in his eyes. He didn't move, just stared at the cat. If it was Harry, he would have gone straight away to help Crookshanks. But Draco just crouched on his knees, shoulders slack, hesitating. Not that she was comparing. It was just that Draco was completely different from Harry. Harry was born the hero. Draco was... well, something else. 

_Please, Draco,_ she pleaded silently. _Just get him out of there._

Hermione had her eyes on Draco, watching him as grim determination replaced the hesitation she had seen earlier. Draco edged closer, braving the branches that threatened to hurt him. He tried to get to Crookshanks, but one savage branch slapped him on the cheek, creating a cut near his eyes. Hermione winced as blood sprung forth, but Draco seemed to ignore it; he plodded on, trying to free the struggling cat. The tree was cruel; one by one, its branches hit Draco — Hermione looked away, cringing everytime she heard the branches slap against him, felt his every cry at a desperate attempt to ease the pain, feeling it pierce deep in her heart, as if it was her own. 

After a few valiant attempts, cuts, and bruises, Draco was finally able to get the cat out, purring feebly in his arms. Crookshanks wriggled free, his fur stained darkly with blood, but Hermione saw that Draco was losing strength; he could barely manage to stand. He tried to walk away from the tree, but it showed him no mercy. The tree had marked Draco as an intruder, a creature invading its space, and like a mother protecting her child from harm, it lashed at him, trying with all its might to throw him away from it as far as possible. It continued to attack Draco using as many branches as possible, the intensity of the pain increasing as he cried out — Hermione felt his cry stab through her senses, marking the agony that once she had felt with him. She couldn't take it anymore — 

With Draco in mind, she went down from the branches, but in her haste, her foot got caught in one branch, and she slipped — she threw out her arm and caught a branch. She could feel her heart almost pounding in her head — she tried to calm herself with a few steady breaths, then looked down. The tree was low, but from where she was, the gap was still a long way before the ground. She hoisted herself up, and very carefully descended the branches, her feet finally touching the ground. She steadied herself, and when she looked up, she saw him as if in slow motion, Draco, weak from severe pain, falling towards the ground. Hermione immediately ran to him and caught him before he hit the ground.

Breathing sharply, she placed Draco's arm on her shoulders, pulling themselves away from the tree. She barely noticed that the Whomping Willow had gone rigid; she had not known that Crookshanks pressed its paw on the knot beneath the branches. She sat on the ground, laying Draco's head on her lap. She immediately took his right wrist, sucked the wound, then spat the blood out. She knew he was bitten there, and getting the blood out from the wound would prevent the poison from spreading through his body. She did this again, fighting back tears from her eyes. No one deserved this. No one. Not even Draco.

She waited for the wound to clot, biting her lips so hard, she tasted blood. Ignoring the copper tang in her mouth, she willed the wound to stop bleeding, but it wouldn't. _What do I do? What do I do? _It was already a self-hypnotic litany, hoping against hope that an idea would present itself willingly before her eyes. 

She closed her eyes, and then she remembered Madam Pomfrey. What would she have done? She racked her brain, and in her mind's eye she saw the black strip of cloth the school nurse handed her. Where had she seen it? 

Oh, God.

She looked down at her robes, then back at Draco's bleeding wrist. The strip of cloth came from her robes, and she used it to bandage his wrist to stop it from bleeding. It all made sense!

She quickly tore out a strip from her robes, then covered Draco's wound with it, all the while casting a wary eye on the castle. She was about to come out from the castle anytime now.

She felt a brush of a tail beside her, and when she turned, it was Crookshanks, purring faintly. "Oh, Crookshanks," she said softly, stroking his head. "Thank you."

Crookshanks purred again, cradling his head into the nook of her arms. But a distinct crackle of grass alerted her to her senses. "I have to go."

She glimpsed at Draco, then planted a kiss on his forehead. She ran silently and hid behind the bushes that lined along the edge of the forest, just as she saw herself seeing Draco in his current state. And then, it started to rain.

"Help! Help! Anybody, please!" she heard herself call. She sank back, careful to conceal herself. 

She could still hear Crookshanks purring, and she strained her ears in the rain, making sure that they were all gone before she came out. She peered in between the leaves, and saw that no one else was around. She finally got up, and walked along the lake. Something glinting along the bank caught her eye.

She bent and picked it up. The images stood out, the title _Cinderella_ embossed in curling strokes. It was her book. It remained dry, mainly because she had an Impervius spell cast on it before to make sure it would not get wet. She had been looking around for it and thought it was lost. She looked at the castle, where the Astronomy Tower was seen, looming darkly in the rain. She must have left it there, and Draco must have picked it up and meant to return it to her, but... 

Drenched in the rain, she got up, her robes splattered in blood and mud. Breathing heavily, she slowly treaded her way towards the castle door.

* * * * * 

Draco blinked. He had a strange dream. He dreamed he was in a forest, lying on his back, badly hurt. Someone came to rescue him. Someone...

He felt a heavy hand between his fingers. He looked down, and saw someone sleeping peacefully on her arms beside his bed, her hair of caramel curls glinting in the rays of the moon.

"Hermione?" Draco whispered in faint surprise.

Hermione stirred, but she only moved her hand to grip Draco's hand tighter without waking up.

Draco felt himself smile inwardly, but vaguely wondered what she was doing here, but he knew fairly well that whatever the reason was, it didn't matter to him. It felt good to have his hand be held just like that. It was pacifying, in an oddly satisfying way; an unspoken reassurance that she was there, and that was that. 

Pale moonlight was streaming through the window. His eyes roved around the room, and it took him a few moments before he realized that he was in the hospital wing. To his left, he saw his bedside table flanked with potions contained in bottles varying in height. He struggled his eyes to read the labels. One held a tag which said _Antoxin_; he knew that this was used to treat snake bites.

_Snake bites._

Slowly, he remembered what had happened to him, as if it was a movie spun out from its reel, playing bluntly at the back of his mind. He tried to move; vestiges of pain came back to him like broken glass spearing his flesh, spurring him back to the reality he was trying to run away from. 

He looked down, watching Hermione breathe easily, her face glowing as the waning moonlight struck it. He closed his eyes again, recalling the feeling of blood and tears and pain that was love, focusing his senses on the hand that he was holding, as if trying to preserve the sensation of being held just like that, being loved and loving at the same time.

Unconsciously, he clutched her hand tightly, and before he knew it, he slowly drowsed off to sleep.

* * * * *

"Morning, Hermione," Ron greeted her with a smile. "Toast?" he offered, thrusting a toast wrapped in table napkin to her. They were both in the common room, lounging near the fire. Harry was still in the boys' dormitory, apparently still fast asleep.

"Thanks, Ron," she replied gratefully, taking it. She placed the book she was reading (_Muggles: On the Way to Civilization_) on a table near the fire, and nibbled the toast silently.

"You haven't been yourself lately," Ron said without looking at her. He got the poker near the grate and stoked the crackling fire. 

"No, Ron." She bit her lip, brushing a few strands of hair away from her hair and tucking it behind her ears. "Just tired. Don't worry." 

"And you're fine." It wasn't much of a question, but it wasn't a statement, either.

"Me? Yes, of course," she replied, trying to sound cheerful, but failing. She heaved a sigh and looked at the fire. _She_ was fine, yes, but _Draco_ wasn't. And that was distracting her.

She had fallen asleep while watching Draco last night. It never occurred to her that she was exhausted, not until when she woke up at about four o'clock in the morning beside Draco. Her back was stiff from sleeping in an awkward position. When she got back from the infirmary, she barely had any wink of sleep.

Perhaps being with Draco made her forget what she was feeling for a while. He was like a drug; something powerful enough to numb her senses, but when he was not with her, she was back; hurting, feeling, loving.

Hermione laid out her hand, the hand that held Draco's, and almost felt Draco's touch again. She had, somehow, managed to hold his hand without her noticing. She didn't know if Draco knew this. There was some mortified part of her that wished he didn't, but her heart wished he did.

"Hermione."

She looked at him. "Yes?"

"Nothing." Ron frowned. Hermione could see that he wanted to say something, but he held it back. Instead, he just said, "Go on and relax. You need it. But if you have something else to do," he paused at this, taking a deep breath, "something else to prove to yourself, then do it. I won't stop you. Just be careful." 

She looked up, and realized that Ron was looking at her, saying nothing. But his eyes told her what he didn't. He wanted to know what was bothering her, but whatever it was, if she couldn't tell him, at least he wanted her to know that he would always be there for her, no matter what happens. And that was all she needed to know.

She held his hand briefly, the touch tinted with a gentle gratefulness, then let it go. Without saying anything, she smiled at him, turned, and walked out of the common room.

* * * * *

"Good. You're awake," Madam Pomfrey declared with an air of impatience. "I'll be finishing up your bruises, then after you drink your medicine, you can go."

Draco sat up on his bed without saying anything. Madam Pomfrey took off the blankets that covered his body, then started working on his bruises. Draco just watched, as one by one, his bruises, with a flick of her wand, disappeared in a flash. 

This went on for a few more minutes, until what was only left was the wound on his right wrist. 

The school nurse reached for his right hand, but Draco placed it on his chest, hugging it. "No."

"_No?_ You'll have a scar there."

"I don't care." Draco shrugged. "I want it that way."

Madam Pomfrey raised her eyebrows, but didn't say anything. Instead, she measured a cup of _Antoxin _from its bottle and handed it to Draco. "Here, drink this."

Draco took the goblet from her and drained it. He grimaced at the bitter taste, quelling the urge to puke it back out. "Thank you," he said, swallowing a bit of water.

Madam Pomfrey just sighed and nodded. He turned to go, but her voice stopped him. "Wait, Mr. Malfoy, before you go." 

Draco looked at her curiously. "Yes?"

"You might forget this." 

Draco's heart skipped a beat as she handed him a book. From the feel of it, he knew immediately that it was Hermione's. Placing it inside his robes, he glanced up. "Thanks. You made me remember something I had to do." With that, he turned and strode out of the hospital wing.

He meant to go to the Great Hall to eat, but this couldn't wait. Some instinct told him that going out to the forest was more important than eating, so he went ahead and pushed open the castle doors.

The sky was extraordinarily blue; clouds looked like fluffy white cotton as they hung on the sky. Draco was struck at how beautiful it was. If he hadn't looked up, he wouldn't have noticed it.

With a small sense of foreboding, he trudged the way along the grounds, stopping as he neared the edge of the forest. He placed his hand in his pockets, and was surprised to feel his penknife in there. He retrieved it out and looked at it. He took out the blade, the sharp edge catching the sunlight, glistening in his hand. He searched for a tree, aimed at its trunk, and lobbed the knife at it. It hit the tree with a satisfying thud.

"Haven't learned your lesson yet, I see." 

Draco turned around and saw Hermione standing a few feet behind him. He noticed she had her hair up in a ponytail, some of the strands left hanging around her face which the ponytail left untied; it was the first time he had seen her like that. It suited her just well. It reminded him of the night they had in the Astronomy Tower.

Draco chose not to answer. Instead, he asked, "How long have you been standing there?"

"Just after you decided to play darts and made the tree your target," she answered casually. "How are you?"

Draco tried to answer "Fine," but he couldn't. He felt out of breath, as if the mere sight of Hermione asphyxiated him, making him lose control of his senses. 

Hermione's expression was of concern as she walked toward him. "You should go back if you're still feeling sick."

Draco looked up, and Hermione was struck at how intensely beautiful his eyes were; silver. It was the color of beauty, of elegance, of nobility, and for her, it was just right for Draco. "It was you," he mumbled, his eyes boring into hers.

She stopped in her tracks. Draco caught the panic-stricken look in her face, but it quickly flitted away in a space of a heartbeat. Her face was unreadable once again. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't, Hermione. Stop pretending that you don't know," Draco said quietly, closing the remaining distance between them, and looked into her eyes. "I know it's you. You saved my life."

Hermione looked away. "No, I didn't. It was my fault that you got hurt. If I didn't — "

But whatever she was about to say, Draco didn't hear them as he leaned in and kissed her.

Hermione stood frozen in shock; her mind drew a blank. All she knew was that Draco's lips was on hers, kissing her with a gentleness she only imagined in her dreams. Her first impulse told her to push him away, but it all dissolved as resolution seemed to crumble against all the pent-up feelings that threatened to spill over like the tide in an angry sea. All pretenses abandoned, she did what her mind told her was the most sensible thing to do; and she kissed him back.

Draco leaned into the kiss, his hands circling her waist, linking them at the small of her back. It felt wrong, yet it felt strangely right. He kissed her with all fervor, almost feverishly, as if she in his arms was the only thing that mattered. He wanted her to feel him; he was finally laying out all he can about himself, letting her know that he was there. He felt her hand reach up to touch his cheek, feeling coldness turn to warmth as he kissed her thoroughly.

After what seemed like an eternity, Draco pulled back. He watched as Hermione's eyelids fluttered open, and he met her gaze. For a moment, they stayed just like that; his arms linked behind her back, her arms behind his neck. No words. Just that.

It was Draco who broke the silence. "Thank you," he whispered breathlessly, staring into her brown eyes that were just a few inches away from his. "You taught me something I thought I would never understand." 

Hermione's expression was mildly questioning, but she remained silent. Draco continued in a soft and gentle voice, "You taught me to love, Hermione. At first, I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to. But you showed me a lot of things I never learned from my father. I learned from you, and I hated that."

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, her eyes shining with liquid emotions, trying hard not to cry, but he cut her off. 

"No, _I_ am sorry." Draco kissed her eyes. "I've hurt you when I tried to walk away from you, when instead, I should have been loving you in the first place. I thought walking away will make things easier for me, but it didn't. It made me love you even more."

Hermione felt her knees turn into water. Clutching him tightly, she felt her knees almost give way at his words. It was a good thing that Draco was holding her; she would have melted at that instant. "I shouldn't have — "

Draco laid a finger on her lips. "Don't blame yourself."

Hermione fell silent. Her cheeks felt hot, but she knew deep down it wasn't because of the weather. She recalled the night they were together, out in the Astronomy Tower. What had she said then? 

_But it doesn't hurt to dream and believe it, either._

Now, she looked into his eyes, shining like liquid silver in her presence, hardly daring to believe it. She wasn't wrong after all.

"Could I ask you something?" she asked him.

"Spill."

Hermione reached for his right wrist, without extricating herself from Draco's embrace. "Why didn't you let Madam Pomfrey fix this up?" she asked, her hand touching the wound gently. She vaguely wondered whether that wound would ever heal, whether there ever came a time in people's sorrowing when forgiveness was easier than pain. 

Draco smiled. It wasn't the first time Hermione had seen him smile like that; no malice, no spite; just pure and sincere, but just looking at it took her breath away, just like it did the first time. "It's for me to know and for you to find out," he answered simply.

Hermione raised her eyebrows, but she didn't say anything. 

Scars were always a bitter, painful reminder to never walk the same path again.

"Anyway, I think I've seen enough blood to last me a lifetime," Hermione said, turning to him. 

"Why? I thought that was fun."

"_Fun?_ Playing around with hybrids of snakes — a dangerous one, at that — and then letting it bite you and then purposefully decapitating it for vengeance is your definition of _fun_?" Hermione scowled. "You're morbid."

"Well, I _am_ one unique snowflake."

"Don't ever do that again." Her tone was not reproachful; it was laced with a certain sort of sweetness, coupled with an emotion he knew all too well that softened her expression when he looked at her, and Draco appreciated it all the same. It actually felt nice to be cared for like that.

"In one condition."

She looked up curiously. "What?"

"Only if you let me do this." Draco bent and kissed her again.

Draco felt Hermione smile under his lips, and she kissed him back, reaching up to him, bridging up and dissolving the uncertainties that once separated them apart.

fin.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

So that's it. That's how the story ends, and I do hope you like it. Many thanks to the people who stood by me and made writing this fic a beautiful experience. Thank you for keeping me going, even though I did have a hard time cooking up the plot... although I had an even harder time trying to put it into words... *grin* Anyway, this chapter's for you, for reading it and for appreciating it. I couldn't have done this without you. 

I'd like to hear from you, so reviews are always welcome. You can email me at blue_psyche14@yahoo.com

Anyway, this fic contains quotes from The First Knight and Dear Nobody.

I'm actually planning to write another one, perhaps after the fifth book comes out, but the plot's still whirring in my head... maybe I just need the right inspiration to actually write it up. *smile* 


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